She Became Eternal
by Steve Zissou
Summary: In the quiet of a fading day, a faun is watched by creatures of the wood as he mourns his loss. But, from grief comes hope, and so comes this story. [A tale of Mr. Tumnus] [Oneshot] [Review, please]


**Author's Note: **This made me sob as I wrote it. I'll say this much, if it weren't for my music that played while I wrote, this wouldn't have turned out as it did. I wrote it with three main tracks. First, "Lucy and Mr. Tumnus" from the Chronicles of Narnia OST, then "Dolphin Dreams" from Underwater Playground and finally, "Anthem" from the Cold Mountain OST. The first song is terribly sweet, I love using it as mood music when I write anything for Lucy and Mr. Tumnus. Beautiful and light! The second is very soft and slow, and sweet as well, it simply being bells and a soft orchestra. The third is piano and a heartbreaking theme of Cold Mountain, a movie that is very tragic, but very beautiful. All three make me think of quiet sadness, so here is this story of Mr. Tumnus and his own sadness.

The girl is my own creation, Juniper, who I hope is not at all a Mary-Sue, but simply a supporting character very much needed in this story. I hope you enjoy it, because I rather like it. Reviews are love.

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"Does he make mention of what ales him?" said the little tree.

"No. He is silent as death, all day staring, staring, staring," replied she quietly.

The young tree's boughs creaked in mourning, and she gently brushed her fingertips over the roughening, new bark. This was not something easily hidden from the ears of a faun, especially one who had prided himself on having terribly good ears among most fauns.

"She is gone," came the faun's soft whisper into the chilled air, and the little tree, along with the girl, found their spirits being pulled low by some mysterious force. In her chest, she felt something flutter and ache in a painful and unnamed way.

"What is this feeling," she asked the tree, " that causes my very core to shatter?"

"Despair," moaned the tree as the wind dipped and dived between it's tiny branches.

All at once, the faun turned on his hoof violently, pointing to the young tree and the fair creature crouched behind it.

"Can't you leave me be! Can't everyone just leave me to my grief! Let it swallow me whole, let it kill me! I have no reason to live!" He cried in a way that was brutal and unlike him, and tears tumbled down the curves of his face and into his golden locks curling under his chin.

There was a moment of silence, save for the hum of the cricket's choir and the night owls warning cry, that soon it would be dark and soon it would be hunting.

Then, "And if you die, who will she return to?"

It was apparent that the faun had not thought of this. His eyes, shone with glistening tears, widened and then shut tight against the sight before him. For a moment, she thought it was her hair, much too bright even in the fading light. Self consciously she allowed her fingers to drift through the vermilion curls until all were laced together in a single braid to be thrown over her shoulder, away from eyes that thought the mane too bright. Now, she was nearing the faun and leaving the mourning tree to it's self, for there was a greater need for comfort in the faun.

This was her calling, always had been and always would be. He knew this as well as he knew the back of his own hand, so her presence was welcomed, though for how long he could take her consoling words, he was unsure.

"Have you heard of the word hope?" asked she, rounding the faun with light steps that made naught a sound.

"I have," he mumbled, half heartedly.

"Then you know of what I speak. There, in the midst of your grief, is a seed of hope," she spoke wisely, pausing to stand at his left facing the metal tree that lit up the oncoming night. He faced the other direction, the path that led to his woe.

They did not speak anymore. Even if he wanted too say something, his words drowned in the sudden onslaught of tears. The faun parted his lips, and brought his fist up to his open mouth to stifle the sob.

He fell, then, to his haunches he came to rest with his whole body trembling something fierce. His sobs were so silent, that she could only tell he was weeping by the shake of his shoulders. She too fell, casting her long willowy limbs around his shuddering shoulders, her tears splashing onto his bare shoulder, her braid of vermilion cast across his striking scarlet scarf.

Mr. Tumnus cried in the arms of a nymph that evening, and the next, and the next, until he had nothing more to shed and even then she stayed by his side, under the watch of the entire Lantern Waste.

Silence again, and it seemed all was beginning to be well again for the faun. Perhaps all the water of his salty tears had nourished the seed of hope, had turned it into a blossom of hope.

He sniffed, and rubbed his nose with his scarf, before asking quietly, "Would you care for some tea? I... I could use some tea."

"Yes," she replied and the two left, hand in hand to hold hours of conversation of Queen Lucy the Valiant over sardines and tea.

"We couldn't let the memory die," he said once, recalling his period of mourning. In the heart of Mr. Tumnus, reigned a young Queen and because of hope and the care of another, she became more than a memory, she became eternal.


End file.
